Libero
by FerrumVigro
Summary: Altaïr discovers that the process of growing-up is challenging, not for Darim, but for him.
1. Chapter 1

_Disclaimer: I do not own Assassin's Creed or anything else you may recognise, all of which belongs to Ubisoft. _

_Summary: Altaïr discovers the process of growing-up, is not challenging for Darim, but for him. _

_A/N: Two guess as to what I got delivered in the post this morning, spent the whole day reading and finished (personal record!) in a matter of hours. Yes…well it was The Secret Crusade for idiots and it's inspired this pulled up in a matter of minutes and although I didn't actually like everything within the book…some of it's all right although I felt as though I was reading a piece of fan fiction the entire time…_

_Libero; to set free._

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><p>As he had confessed many times before during his lifetime, Altaïr could face many a man, situation or battle with little to no fear. There was very little that he could find, in the world known to him which made his skin pale and blood run cold in that consuming, panicked anxiety that fear inspired.<p>

Yet Darim seemed perfectly adapted in finding new ways to do just that.

Nearing two years of age, the boy was finding his feet, stumbling through the paths of Masyaf under watchful eyes, tripping over his own toes, falling and getting to his feet again as though his tumbles had never happened. The child amazed him, to Altaïr it seemed his son could not _walk_ from one place to the other but felt the need to run, to gallop as a foal would on unsteady feet. Maria found it endearing, she could watch the boy with a fond smile as he got to his feet and danced about madly as he stood with baited breath, his fists clenched to stop himself from running and restraining the boy.

"You would be holding him back, Altaïr, caging him like a bird when he needs to be free and spreading his wings," Maria told him amused, watching his anxious gaze as Darim attempted to climb the stone steps leading into the Fortress. "He's just growing up, learning and doing well. You should be proud."

But…he _was_ proud, very much so. Each step Darim took made him swell with pride yet…with each step he waited with his breath held, muscles tensing, for the fall that was surely to follow.

He should have been prepared of this stage. He had been fine when Darim had first learned to support himself so as to sit, he had watched admirably as the boy slowly taught himself to pull his small weight across the floor; he been overjoyed to find his son crawling towards him, laughing childishly as he grabbed onto his fathers robes and hid amongst the layers hanging by his legs.

Altaïr had known his first steps would soon follow, he had helped in the matter; ignorant to what such small steps would begin.

Maria would often tease that he had brought it upon himself; was it not _he_ who had taken his son's small hands in his own, was it not _him_ who had stood slowly easing the boy up with him, guided by his strong hold on his hands, wasn't it _Altaïr_ who encouraged his son to take those first shaky, small steps.

Yes, he would state, remembering fondly. It had been him; he was Darim's father after all and was it not his duty to lead his child in his first steps in life, to be there to steady him from falling, to catch him.

"But of course," Maria answered, smiling gently at him, "Yet you can not _always _be there to help him to his feet, Altaïr, Darim must be able to pull himself up again, alone and without aid and continue on running."

And as though to further her point, from the corner of his eye, he watched the blur of gold that was his son, stumble and crash to his knees, his small body shaking with the force of the impact of skin against stone.

Yet the child didn't cry, a shout of alarm and cry of pain but no loud, echoing wails were emitted. Instead he remained still, shocked from his fall, watching his hands where they met the ground, his small chest heaving and Altaïr fought the urge to dash forward, his breath caught in his throat, heart pumping after a stand-still. The surrounding Brothers started at the small boy tripping and seeing their fallen little Brother, some made to help him up but a glance to the child's mother told them to stay their post.

Darim remained down as through assessing his damage, waiting for his small body to tell him if something was very wrong. With all his bones in check but with his limbs sore and scrapped, a little bloodied, he slowly pulled himself up to his knees and looked himself over before rising to his shaking legs and making his way over the his parents.

Only when the boy was before him could Altaïr breathe. He let out a breath of relief as he saw the boy had only cut his palms, the skin there tore away from scratching against the stone when he had threw them out the catch his fall.

Bending his knees to greet his son he was struck with a deep admiration for the boy; for all the age of him, he had skill and all of it was instinct, in his blood and bones. All this learning; to sit, stand, run, catch himself should he fall and assess himself for damage before making a commotion, all were built into him from the beginning, natural and flowing as water. Briefly, in the back of his mind, he wondered which skills Darim had been passed from both he and Maria, had he a trait, a taste, of his gift, his sight or…

"You see," Maria spoke again, teaching him on the role of being a father, and he listened gratefully, "Darim knows when his slips are worth knowing of and he knows exactly who to come to should he need a hand."

Darim, smiling shyly before him, held out his hands, palms rose to the sun, for his father to inspect.

The scratches were only skin deep and would be gone in a matter of days and judging from the lack of pain, he guessed Darim would have forgotten about them by the morning. Yet he still took his son's smaller hands in his own larger calloused ones, mindful once more of the size difference, he made a show of looking over the boys 'wounds'. Finally he nodded and looked his son in the eyes; Maria's dark iris's stared back at him, questioning and slightly teary.

"Yes," He told him darkly, all anxiety and fear from before melted to the back of his mind, "It is as I feared, they shall have to be removed."

Darim's light gasp of surprise soon turned to that of delight as his father grabbed him by the middle and threw him over his shoulder, rising again to his feet with him dangling over his back. Maria's laughter rang through the yard as he carried the giggling boy up the steps and into the shade of the fortress, leaving her by the training ring to await that evenings session alone.

The Brothers stationed close by watched perplexed as their Grand Master carried the boy further into the corridors to the gardens through on the other side. By now they knew the Master wished it to be that all fathers, Assassin's and village-men, showed their offspring such kindness, such love; a softer side to the harsh reality of life. Altaïr preached to set by example and this teaching was no different from any other; he openly showed his son love and fondness, through playful antics or more commonly through the amount of time he made for his son and wife. It had been taught before that as Assassin's family was pushed to the back, brothers in replacement for parents, Assassins were encouraged only to marry and have children later in life when they had settled and lowered their blade. However little chance there was of making it to such retirement, that was the way it had been for most. Yet Altaïr tried to show them different, encouraged them to raise a family when they felt the time was right, to spend time with loved ones and treasure such times so that they may have something precious to remember and hold on to when that final blow was stuck. Many brothers were turning to believe in his teachings and as Darim's laughter rang through the fortress each day it unknowingly encouraged his father's words.

Within the garden, _Paradise_ as it had been deemed; Altaïr had set his laughing son down next to a small fountain, flowing with clean, crystal clear, water from the streams below.

"Here," He spoke gently taking the boys cut palms in his own once more and placing them under the flowing water, "Always clean your wounds, to stop infection. Or else we really will need to cut them off."

_Like Malik…_

"Cold." Darim stated in answer, wiggling his fingers under the light flow. Smiling at him, Altaïr brushed some of the light-sun touched hair from his forehead, thinking of the day when his son would fall and return to him with something more serious than scratched palms.

Again, that creeping, ice-cold fear rose within him, stealing the warmth from his bones and draining the colour from his cheeks. On impulse he reached forward and grabbed Darim, pulling him close and embracing him tightly to his chest.

Restraining him, holding him close so he could never run and fall, could never be hurt or afraid or…

…grow up.

"…_Caging him like a bird when he needs to be free and spreading his wings…"_

Maria was right. Why was Maria _always _right?

From his arms, Darim, ignorant to his fathers inter turmoil, murmured into his robed chest and wrapped his small arms around him tightly and at once that fear melted and turned to warmth and love for his small son. He only wanted the best for him, wanted him to grow up safe and knowing his father was there be it to catch him should he fall or to heal his wounds.

He remembered the boy's strength to push himself up after a fall, his determination during his first few steps, his eagerness to pull himself forward.

Darim was a born Assassin, given the skills from Master's-_both Assassin and Templer_- to survive and do well.

He would do fine.

"Gold…golden shiny warm…Papa…" Darim's low murmuring, muffled by his robes, reached his trained ears and he took the meaning of such childish words into account. So then, he had been right. He at least had the gift of sight…he would be taught well to treasure it and taught to use it to his advantage.

Plans for future lessons and teachings he would give Darim swam through his head but he pushed them aside and for now he held his child's small warm body close and for a moment thought of never letting go.

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><p>As it is my first piece of AC fanfiction, I'd be grateful for some feed-back...XP<p> 


	2. Chapter 2

_Disclaimer: I do not own Assassin's Creed or anything else you may recognise, all of which belongs to Ubisoft._

_Summary: Altaïr discovers the process of growing-up, is not challenging for Darim, but for him._

_A/N: Revelations! Ahhhhk I. Want. .Bad! But i need to study and I know that if I were to give in and get it, I'll never pass my up-coming exam. Damn you education board why couldn't you push the date back or up or just cancel it completely! I wrote this quickly and it's unbetaed but I hope you enjoy it, if you see any mistakes please do tell me and I'll get right on them._

_IMPORTANT-Lots of lovely reviewers noted that Gold in 'eagle sense' usually highlights a target and/or a person of importance. Now I read that...somewhere when I began written this and I've always thought that Altair would see Maria and his son as different that his brothers and those around him, so they will stay gold._

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><p>Throughout his life, from his first days as a novice until his late days as Master Assassin, Altaïr had never been, by nature, a curious person.<p>

As a boy he had listened intently to what he was taught and only explored for higher knowledge when it was needed. He had respected those higher than him, in rank and age, and accepted that those with experience knew the ways of an Assassin to a extreme level and could teach him better than any written words. Therefore he had learnt from his elders and teacher's preaching rather than the words written by strangers. It was not that he did not desire to know more about the world around him, he would watch the other novices with a sense of amusement as they sat within the shadows bent over scrolls, their fingers ink stained, and hiding within rows of dusty selves bound to tomes. Back then as a boy he had seen it as a matter of preference; whilst his Brothers remained within, reading scrolls and learning of the Order, he was facing his older Brothers in the training area under the watchful eye of a Rafiq, breathing it.

As he grew, he knew it was due to his objective and focused personality that he limited his curiosity to only that which was needed.

However, the presence of the Apple in his life had smashed through those limitations and for the first time he was openly, hungrily, curious about the world around him. Those who he encountered during that period, the Brothers he had grown-up with, had been quite taken back by the change in him. Malik, in particular, had thought it a positive change; he had been one of those sat stuck with a scroll to his face for his many years as a novice and he greatly valued the knowledge of words, he told him his new found curiosity could only bring great results.

Until his curiosity became a constant disruption in his daily life that is,

"_Malik, have you seen this-"_

"_Malik, did you know-"_

"_But I don't understand, how could-" _

And the headache causing,

"_Why?"_

At that time, he had not understood the annoyance of another's constant curiosity, but back then Darim hadn't even been a possible thought.

At two years of age, he was barely able to pronounce fully correct sentences, yet fully capable of following his father around on short legs and throwing odd questions at him about the world around them.

"He's just a child," Maria would tell him, giving his tense shoulders a rub as he bent over his desk, trying to force away the pounding of his head through her fingers, "You were curious too as a boy,"

Yes, perhaps, a little. Yet not such as this. Never in all his years could he remember asking so many questions about this and that, or answering so many of them.

"Papa, what this?" Whilst holding one of Maria's hair pins,

"What does he do? Is Papa's friend?" Passing Abbas,

"But, but why gold? I like green." During one of their lessons,

"Papa, why?" When told he must sleep,

"What that?" During a family bath,

And all that pointing!

Maria, as with most things their son did, found it endearing. He found it quite hindering, not to Darim but to his own work yet that never stopped him once from answering. Each time he would answer one of these prodding questions, Darim would grin and repeat his answer to himself and Altaïr knew he would never be asked the same question again for a period of time. Each answer to his son's curiosity expanded Darim's knowledge of the world and would help him grow, it did not matter that most times, the questions were utter nonsense from the top of his mind and he had to think for a reasonable answer.

So each day came and went with mouthfuls of questions thrown at the Grand Masters legs and with each day, Altaïr could see that Darim was beginning to become more aware of those he lived with and of his surroundings. He looked to the sky more and discovered the birds within the mountain tops, he searched the ground and found that tiny creatures lived amongst the foliage there, he studied peoples faces more and watched body language, he honed his senses and grew to slowly seek knowledge for himself rather than run straight to his parents. Yet that didn't stop the question flow afterwards or if he grew too tried of searching for answers.

Through the headaches and constant disruptions, Altaïr began to relate his sons curiosity to his own and realised that he never wanted Darim's to die as his had. Perhaps if he, as a child, had been given time with his own father his would have flared to life as a boy and he may have not missed certain information and made past mistakes in his life.

He had always made time for his small family, always took time from his work to seek out Maria and Darim wherever they may be within Masyaf yet he worried that this stage in Darims life would past by and the boy would close-up as he had. He taught Darim on a regular bases, he helped him with his gift and taught him the basics all children needed to know before entering the brotherhood yet he wanted to teach him more than just the ways of their Order. Darim was a born Assassin yet he didn't want that to be all he had in life.

"Take him out into the world," Suggested Maria one night whilst they lay together, "Past the gates, past all he has known."

"It would be far too dangerous for him," He'd countered, dread creeping up his spine when thinking of his small son against the immensity of the world beyond Masyaf's gates. "I could, perhaps, take more time from my work and increase his teachings."

"He would hate you for it, if you did, he is still too young to know such many things. He has years before he enters as a novice."

"Yes, but he needs to be prepared, he has- he has the expectations of others to live up to." He could feel Maria's gaze on the side of his face yet he didn't turn to her, knowing she was thinking of what he had not said. He was _his_ son…

Why had he not been taught or told of how terrifying it was to raise a child. The mere thought of all that Darim faced in his life was enough to make him want to grab his son and take him far away to some place where he could grow up safe and happy. Not every child was born into an Assassin Order with a Mentor as a father though. Most children had such a life or one close to it.

"Perhaps I should just wait until he is old enough…"

"No," She rose from her place on his chest, cloth slipping from her bare frame, and looked at him, "Don't, he enjoys the time with you, he loves to learn, yet not every lesson needs to be indoors," She stretched her leg over and sat herself above him, "Not every lesson has to be about our Order or anything of importance."

It was a task within itself to focus on her words rather than her yet he understood what she was telling him. He murmured his agreement as she traced his lips with her thumb, making him smile.

"You should take him out, explore the little things of the world. Think of how he sees it all, it's all new to him and none of it is unimportant or little."

Maria never failed to awe him with how easily she had adapted to motherhood. From templar to tender, she handled Darim as well as she did a sword and as with in a fight, she had his back as his partner and wife. He was and always would be truly grateful to have her.

And he liked to prove that to her when he could.

As such, he answered her words with a kiss and just showed her how much he appreciated her as his wife.

Within the next few days, father and son never sat indoors during lessons. The Grand Master of the Assassin Order would be seen leading his son to and fro throughout the market place, pacing amongst the stalks, pointing out odd bits and ends of certain things, the Grand Master speaking and gesturing the whole time; explaining to the boy how the fur was skinned from mammals, how large numbers of fish were caught all at once and kept fresh. The child held onto his hand most of the time yet dropped it when something caught his own keen eyes. He would lead his father over, pointing and smiling and would ask his questions of what, why and how, all of which would be answered.

Each lesson, for a few hours a day, Altaïr would let his small son lead him to and fro across, under and over Masyaf, from the ground and grasses below to the skies and mountains above, his son showed him what he knew and he, as his father, simply expanded that. Soon the headaches were a rarity and those unimportant little questions grew to be not so insignificant.

He grew closer to his son in those small moments, his small hand in his own, the boy's eyes alight with curiosity absorbing his every word and he grew to realise more, that one day, he was going to have to let that hand go for good. Darim wouldn't come running to him anymore with small questions asking for answers. A man would stand before him someday, his hands worn with work resting by his sides and he would demand answers to his questions if he wanted them enough.

Watching his son examine the small things of the world, it was hard to imagine that baby faced boy as a man, perhaps with children of his own.

As much as the thought frightened him, he could feel the warmth of pride within his chest and instead of pulling Darim closer to him, he just held his hand tighter and listened to his babbling.

He always made time for his son, his questions and teachings.

Yet he never took him outside the gates for Masyaf.

There was plenty of time for _that_ in the future.

He was content enough to have his child stay within the eagle's nest for as long as he could.

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><p>If you read though, you should review! XP<p> 


	3. Chapter 3

_Disclaimer: I do not own Assassin's Creed or anything else you may recognise, all of which belongs to Ubisoft._

_Summary: Altaïr discovers the process of growing-up, is not challenging for Darim, but for him._

_A/N: Don't get your hopes up, this isn't much. It's just a little filler until I get the time to focus more on writing. Exammsss -.-_

_IMPORTANT-Thank you very much to all who reviewed/fav-ed/alerted; you are all brilliant and I love hearing from you guys._

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><p>Darim knew his father was a very important man.<p>

His father wore different coloured robes than the rest of the men in the Order-_ "A brotherhood of men with a common goal. You too, will be apart of our, great and proud, Order, when you are older and strong enough."-_and he was given great respect-_ "They're actions of respect for my position. They lower their head because I am their leader and teacher."-_by everyone within Masyaf- _"Your home. Always remember that, Darim."-_even the village people from the market and little houses below- _"We, as an Order, protect them from harm. In return, we have their loyalty and trust. Two things one must never take for granted."_

His Abba was a great, important man. He did important things so Darim knew that his task was very important too.

He was very excited. Normally he was never allow to interfere in adult matters but now he had been given a special job by his mother and father: he was to be a Brother.

Not just any Brother but a _Big Brother, _which he had been told was unique to him alone. How exciting!

He had been confused at first, as with many things, when his father had taken him aside from his lessons and told him he was to be a Brother.

"You said I was too young! I thought I had a little time left to grow taller!" he had whined, huffing and crossing his arms over his small chest. He had seen _'novices' _and they were all much taller and bigger than him, and he didn't like being littlest or smallest at all.

His father was huge; he had knelt in front of him and taken his shoulders in his large hands.

"No," he said, smiling, "Not that type of Brother. You have many years to grow and become taller." And he had ruffled his hair. "You are to be a special kind of Brother. A big brother. It's an extremely important job."

"Really? What do I do?" he had questioned, curiosity and pride brimming to boiling point.

"Patience. You will, hopefully, see sometime soon. You will meet someone special and they will be very important to you and your task."

"Who? Where are they? When will they be here? What do I do?"

But his father had only smiled and rose, striding away as he nipped at his heels with questions but all he had gotten from him was an amused,

"Soon, you will see. Just wait and hope."

So since then, Darim and waited and he waited and he hoped even though he was not sure what it was he was hoping for. But he hoped a lot and he hoped as strong as he could when he could.

He hoped most at night, when he could see the little bright candles in the sky,

"I want to be a Brother," he would tell them quietly so as his mother and father would not wake, "I want to be a _Big Brother_."

'_Please.'_

'_Help the important person come safely.'_

And so he continued to wait as his father had told him and continued his days normally; forever watchful of the gates, waiting, glancing pleadingly at his father, waiting, helping his mother, wondering and growing concerned as to why she looked different and a little ill, but still waiting throughout it all.

And hoping very much.

'_Please,'_

_'Let me be a good Big Brother.'_

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><p><em>Yumm...reviews...-gobbles-<em>


	4. Chapter 4

**Disclaimer: **It's the same as always.

**A/N: **

Right okay! Hi!*waves shyly*

This whole story up to now was once wonderfully beta'd by _'saphira and shruikan' _but due to my own stupidity I can't upload the redone version so I will have to painstakingly go through it all once more and compare it to beta'd version *sigh* So I will hopefully get 'round to that soon, but I wanted this up first to keep you all happy. *grins*

**Awk, I've quite the AN here so the important bits are in _italic's-please read these_, the rest you can skip if you so please.**

So, apparently "Abba" is not the correct term for 'father' in Hebrew as it relates only to God. Apparently the correct term is simply "Abi", said Av, meaning 'my father'…that is according to some guy from the internet and saying as the small slice of Hebrew that I know is from my religious classes at school…well…I've changed it so do not be confused.

_Abba=Abi=father. MmmKay?_

_Sav=grandfather(from what I have so far found.)_

Good! Now lets proceed.

I'm so very sorry this chapter as taken so long. Life's a bitch but a fine one. Like some purebred grey-hound or a prize poodle.

I will give you all a little warning here; despite loving History and taking a lovely interest in it, I truly know nothing about how people lived during the Crusades-ACI-time period; this chapter contains a birth(Yay Sef!)-so I have no clue as to how the hell they done it all back then so forgive my terminology for I just kept the flow going and what is, IS. Women back then had balls…seriously.

_But yes, this story isn't being written for it's in-depth knowledge or amazingly detailed history; it's a story showing Altair as the father I see him as being._

_I do hope you enjoy this…forgive me if it's a little different than before; I need to get back into writing AC FF…_

_Oh and one last important thing; Thank you to all my wonderful, glorious reviewer's and to those who fav'ed and followed; this is all for you and your amazingness. You guys make me smile and blush! Your all suupper awesome! Like chocolate._

_Unbeta'd work ahead; Beware!_

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><p>Small fingers lay still within the curve of his palm.<p>

Tiny, tiny toes. Pink and soft and oh-so delicate. So small. All so small. Small feet, small toenails. A small pulse beneath his bloody fingertips. Small but there. No child of his, however little and fragile was going to die without a fight. Not his child. Not his son.

Too early, they said. Too weak, they said.

He had no right to be there in the room, they said.

It all went ignored. They were ignored, they were all wrong. Altaïr knew truth when he saw it and he had every right to be there; his right as a father, as a husband, as a protector to his family. _To his child._

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><p>Within the crowded and poorly lit room the metallic scent of blood hung heavily in the air along with an under taste of unease and dread. The night outside remained still, the stars still shining and inside the room women tended to Maria as she lay broken and exhausted, her last cries still resounding within the hushed and tense silence. Even with his every breath fixed on the warm bundle in his hands, Altaïr could see her tears in the candlelight. He could feel her fear. It was gripping his heart and making it hard to focus.<p>

The pains had started that morning at dawn and with a trickle of red on the sheets, Maria's eyes had lost their warmth and shine. "No," She'd whispered furiously as she doubled in pain, her face a mask of disbelief. He was there to catch her yet he had no words to comfort her. "No, no, Altair." Her voice soft and childish in fear and he could only watch as the women took her from him, his heart twisting, "Yes," They told her, their eye's knowing, "Yes, come now, dear."

The curtain had been drawn and with the whisper of cloth against stone he had been left alone to wait in the corridor outside, knowing what was to come. He sat with his head in his hands, the picture of distress and worry as the screams and cries from the room beyond reached his ears. He'd grimaced as Maria's moans of pain and fearful whimpers grew slowly lower and more distraught; almost animalistic. Then, most painfully of all, he'd sat through the silence. Where were her swears and curses as with Darim, where was the lingering hope and excitement underneath all the gut twisting anxiety. The day passed in a blur and the sun set on it's own accord, unaffected by the tumour within him. It would rise and set no matter what happened even though he felt that it had no right to.

Malik had sat by his side at points yet he could not recall what words had been exchanged if any at all. Darim, he knew, was safely locked away within their rooms under watchful eyes. He'd felt alone, lost. The moon rose and her children shone with her well into the night as servants came and went, all telling him with blood stained hands that it would be over soon. With each bowl of red-tinted water and rose-soaked sheet his heart had beat painfully in his chest and the thought of what exactly he could lose by the end caught his breath and choked him.

There was no relief when the time came. There were no fresh cries from behind the curtain and for too long had he sat restless and useless, too long had he been waiting alone. It was with a sense of dread and pure determination that he had swept in, discarding the fussing women with their traditions, to the sight that awaited him.

Maria lay propped up from her place on the flooring with three women cleaning and tending to her needs as they whispered to her reassuringly, yet her arms lay empty by her sides. The overpowering smell of blood struck some deep instinct within him and his eyes quickly sought the small mass in the arms of a healer to the side of the room. He took the small warm body wrapped in swaddling from red hands and into his own. The child's breathing was shallow, a mere whisper of an exhale yet it was there and that was enough. Upon wrapping the child tighter in the thick cloth, Altaïr realised faintly that he had another son, another little boy. A little brother for Darim.

The room slowly faded as he focused on that tight, red and round face. The boy had a thin tuff of dark hair littering his pink head, a blunt nose and full lips, dark lashes resting against pale, bloody cheeks. His eyes were closed. Even with him being so new to the world, Altaïr could see himself and Maria in his face. Watching him struggle for breath and feeling his little ribcage fight to draw it, Altaïr felt tears threaten to rise. This couldn't happen, not too something-_no someone_-so innocent and new. Death befell sinners and the corrupt, the old and lived. Not to a infant, not to his son. Death was something to master and face in life when one was ready. Not during the first breath's of life.

And yet Altaïr knew just how cruel life could be and he was bound to accept that, he always had, yet watching his newborn son, he felt a harsh wash of anger rise from within him. He could picture all the boy had before him in life. He saw his first steps, saw him raise his first sword and heard his free laughter during his first leap of faith; he saw him married, with a family of his own, sons and daughters, his own legacy, he'd grow into a man much better than his old father. Some day he and Darim would stand before his weakened and greying form, both tall, strong and smiling, men with boys of their own…

"_Sav…"_

No, no, this one had too much to do yet before he could leave them.

Bending low he bought the small body close and tight to his chest, until his nose rested lightly against the child's soft cheek. He smelt as new and as fresh as Darim had. Soft and unique until life washed it all away. Short gasping breaths brushed his own rougher cheek and strangely he knew what to do,

"Please," he whispered for his son and he alone, "Breathe. Please, son. We have been waiting for you. Breathe with me, for me. For us."

He unwrapped his robes and tucked his small bundle inside, sharing his warmth and hoping the boy could feel the rise and fall of his chest, if only to know that he was not alone and safe. He paced as he whispered quietly to him, as the moon lowered and Maria slowly roused.

"Darim is very excited to meet you. He is your big brother and he has promised to look after you when I cannot. You'll love him, you'll see. He already loves you and he hasn't even met you yet."

A breath. A step.

"My Maria, your mother, cannot wait to meet you either. She is a glorious mother but you already know that. She's resting now and is very worried about you. Show her how strong we can be, hmm?"

Skin to skin. A small breath for another. Pace to the window and back. Stars and steps.

"We have so much to teach and show you. But you have to breathe and grow into yourself a little first. This world is not so bad, you'll see it's worth it."

Another deep breath. A wiggle and shift. A pace. A small step.

Maria watched thought heavy and teary eyes as Altaïr held the bundle close, his whispers hushed and slow. It was with a sense of awe that she watched the tiny being in his arms slowly begin to fuss and whimper. She was so tired, so weak and weary. Sleep called to her and yet she couldn't take her eyes from father and son.

"We can do this, little one..."

One small step at a time.

* * *

><p>Thin tiny hands lay still within the curve of his own.<p>

His lone thumb lightly traced the pale indents lining the child's soft palms.

The boys small knuckles twitched and with a flicker his fingers clamped down tight upon his fathers thumb and Maria's quiet laughter tickled Altaïr's cheek. His son's little chest rose and fell steady in the gentle rhythm of sleep. His eyes remained tightly closed with those dark lashes dusting his round cheeks. Together they had paced well into the morning and he had spoke to his son of many things from the great and important to the small and pointless. Altaïr had just felt that if he continued talking and telling the infant of the world that by some force the child would be encouraged to remain. It all seemed rather foolish now that the danger had passed. Like the calm after a storm, Maria and he had spent the evening admiring their latest creation and addition as he fed and slept, fussed and called to be changed. As the day washed over them, he coloured and settled into his new surroundings; becoming a new child from the one they had greeted earlier. Watching him now Altaïr suppressed a chuckle. How could that one impulsive, passionate roll in the hay atop a tower result in such strength and subtle beauty. He hadn't even meant to see Maria that day. In fact the whole thing was her fau-

"He's beautiful." Maris whispered disrupting his thoughts. Altaïr could only nod in agreement as he frowned a little at her. If he remembered correctly, he hadn't even fully taken his clothes off…

Deciding to keep quiet on the matter, he returned he gaze to his son and realized with a smile that he quite envied to boy as he lay tucked up snug against Maria's breast. At least now their newborn would not have to spend as much time in their bed as Darim had. He could now pass the duty on to Darim who would be more than pleased to watch over his younger brother in his own linens, as his father claimed his wife back.

Oh the joys of fatherhood.

He was musing on the now inaccessible joys of married life when a low voice from behind tore him from his thoughts,

"Abi?"

Both smiling tiredly, he and Maria turned towards the door to where their eldest stood, dressed in his bed-robe and looking quite bewildered and wide-eyed. Malik stood behind him, his hand on the boys shoulder, smiling and with a slight bow, he left Darim in the care of his parents. "Ema?"

Darim had spent most of the day very upset and angry with his parents and he had lots of questions for them; one of them being why he had to spend the whole day with Brother Malik. He liked Malik but he couldn't really play with him because he only had one arm and he couldn't really ask him questions because he got real mad and angry and red and he would -

"Darim," Altaïr murmured, a slight smile curling his lips as the cross scowl on Darim's face faded. He rose to a sitting position to welcome him and called, "Come here."

Nodding, Darim padded across the stone floor on bare feet, curiosity once again rising from within him like an old flame; he noticed the different room and the interesting smells; he knew this wasn't his parents room so he was confused as to why they were resting here. He had lots of questions. Nearing his parents as they lay together on the layered matting he curiously took in the wrapped bundle in his mothers arms. Was that…

"Darim," His attention was once again drawn to his father. He was smiling at him as he sat shoulder to shoulder with his standing form. He was so tall…

"Do you remember the important person I told you of before? The one you have been waiting for?"

Altaïr watched in amusement as the boy's eyes grew wide in excitement and he nodded eagerly. "Well, your patience has been rewarded." Reaching out, he took his newborn gently from Maria's arms and into his own, turning the infant to face his sibling, "This," he introduced quietly, mindful of the child's sleep, "Is your new brother. Your little brother."

Darim's bright eyes flickered briefly from his father's face to the strange little being wrapped up in cloth in his arms. "This is him?" He asked bluntly, looking at the round sleeping face. Altair nodded and watched as a small frown appeared between Darim's brows.

"He's small." The boy settled on finally after deep thought. Nothing like any other Brother he had seen. But then, a wonderful thought occurred to him and he smiled brightly, "But that's 'cause I'm the Big Brother. So he is small!"

Maria laughed from the pillows and drew Darim to her with a heavy arm, "Yes, that's right. It's your job to look out for him, Darim, for that's what big brothers do for their little brothers."

"Hmm." The boy merely replied as he crept in close to his mother's lying form. The little person in his father's arms, his little brother, didn't stir once has he was moved back into his mother's heat. "What's he called?" he asked curiously, taking in the dark hair.

"He doesn't have a name just yet." Altair answered him as he lay back down beside Maria with Darim on her other side. "He is a baby, so that means he is only new and we must wait a little until we name him."

"Why?"

Onwards with the questions.

"Because names are important. They define who we are as a person." Altair told him.

"How?"

"For each and every person we meet in life knows us by our name and the deeds we do, the good and bad, are all connected to our names. Names can be powerful, Darim." Maria supplied tiredly, nestling close to her husband and securely placing their newborn between them. They would sleep in shifts, she knew, and she was so very thankful to Altair for letting her rest first.

"Oh." Watching his brother, Darim let his mind wonder. The 'baby' remained asleep and he noticed that he had long lashes like his mothers and that he had lips like his father's too.

"What does he call him? Why is he sleepy? Busy day?"

"He cannot speak yet, Darim. He will learn all that soon, as you have. And yes, we all have had a busy day. Shh…" His mother sounded tired.

"He's got your hair." He told her as she closed her eyes. Dark lashes fluttering against rosy cheeks.

"Hush, Darim." Altair whispered. His hand was tracing patterns along Maria's neck, encouraging her to sleep and rest. "You can ask more questions tomorrow and properly introduce yourself to your brother then. It's late."

Nodding, Darim could only curl up next to his mother and wrap himself in the fresh sheets. They smelt like her. It was so nice to sleep next to his parents again, he had often missed it even when he only slept a little ways away. But this close he could feel his mother's chest as it rose and fell in sleep and he could hear his father's deep and even breathing as he watched over them. He felt safe and warm.

Closing his eyes tightly, he focused on his own breathing, trying to match it to his fathers. He found that he couldn't and soon turned his attention to another's. It was too soft and light to be his mothers and with a strange jolt he realized it was his brother's. His mind eased and settled as he listened to the little puffs of breath. His mind wondering as sleep slowly crept in.

"Abi…" he murmured tiredly, drifting off.

"Yes?"

"Where…did…he come from?"

* * *

><p>"Sef."<p>

"Sef? Are you certain?"

"Yes. It suits. I've had it in mind from the beginning. He's here today because he's taken each day as it comes. One small step at a time… He's proven his strength already. It may be simple but haven't you always said that it is our deeds that hold the power behind our name?"

"Yes…Small but powerful…yes, it's prefect. Sef…"

* * *

><p>"Abi? He's doing it <em>again<em>."

Altaïr sighed and refrained from slumping forward against his desk. His head hurt. A lot. Sleep was a past pleasure as with many things that were taken when a child came along and slowly but surly, he was feeling the pressure. Mainly in his forehead.

"Darim, please. Just stop. Poking. Him! He's not even aware of himself never mind that he's eating his own foot. He doesn't even know it's his foot or that it's _a_ foot."

"Why?"

Dark eye's watched him brightly from their place in the crib and Altaïr once again felt tears threaten to rise.

'_Please,' _He pleaded, exhausted, _'Please don't be half as curious as your brother. Be a nice and quiet little boy. Please, Sef.'_

* * *

><p><em>AN: I know, I know. Ahhkk AN run away, run away! _

_On Sef-I believe I can remember reading somewhere quite a bit back that Sef meant 'small-steps'-perhaps this chapter makes a little more sense with that in mind…but the problem is, I'm really not sure if it's correct. I can't figure out where I got this information from or it was even apart of a fan fiction I'd read. If any of you know, could you please tell me for I'd like to give credit to the source…_

_(What is up with the page layout!X()_


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